


Black Hearted

by Shadowheartdesigns (shadowkitten)



Series: Smoke and Mirrors [12]
Category: Princess Principal (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Politics, Threats of Violence, coarse language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 06:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowkitten/pseuds/Shadowheartdesigns
Summary: Charlotte is Queen of Albion, and the Duke of Normandy is Prime Minister. Their alliance is, to say the least, shaky. When a disagreement over a pending law shatters it, the blowback threatens to destroy everything Charlotte and Ange have fought for.





	Black Hearted

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Long Live the Queen, and references events of that story. This story will probably make no sense if you haven't read that first. It also references Nestlings, though in a minor way.

"Unacceptable!" Charlotte had risen to her feet, clutching the stack of papers with a deep frown. A rare expression of anger from a normally calm and collected young woman. Most men would have trembled in fear.

The Duke of Normandy took a very deep breath, clenching his hands into tight fists. It was with great effort that he kept his expression as even as he did.

"Your Majesty, this law is the result of much work, and many compromises. It represents the very best that we can enact at this present time."

"The very best? Sir, may I enquire just how this is the very best possible result?"

"Ma'am, the law extends full voting rights to all males above the age of 21, regardless of wealth or property or race or religion. In that, it is highly progressive."

"Yes," Charlotte nodded, eyes widening. "Yes, it is most commendable indeed. May I, again, enquire how it is that despite that, only women above the age of thirty, who own property in their own right or are married to a man that owns property have been granted suffrage under this law?"

Normandy pursed his lips, and moved his hands behind his back, as much to hide them clenching and unclenching slowly. He continued to focus on keeping his emotions in check.

"It was believed," he began, his voice low and controlled, "that as women are not used to public discourse, and are disadvantaged in the realms of education and leadership, that it was beneficial to limit the suffrage to those most likely to have some smattering of experience in these fields."

"Ah, yes. Limited public discourse and educational opportunities are indeed problems for women. Problems that rich men are largely responsible for. The same rich men that now tut-tut at how unprepared we are for the rights we demand."

Normandy took a very deep breath, deciding not to answer for the moment.

"You know, were I not very privileged indeed I would find myself in a powerless position now. One might think that I would allow this to pass. I suspect many of the women granted these voting rights will nod sagely and agree with your paternal wisdom. And, I suspect, vote according to the interests of the wealthy class to which they, and you, belong. But I am quite certain that this is an accidental and entirely unintended side-effect of limiting woman's suffrage to those with, how did you phrase it? A smattering of experience."

"There is insufficient support in Parliament at this time for a full granting of voting rights to women. These things take time. Accept this now as a victory, and then we can work towards extending the right to vote."

"Wait? Hm. Until the next election cycle, I assume? To allow these new woman voters a chance to elect proper, conservative politicians to Parliament?" Charlotte sighed and sat down in her chair. She placed the papers on her desk and stared at them.

"No," she said quietly.

"Pardon?"

"No. No, I cannot accept this."

"With all due respect, it is done. It is law."

"No, it is not. Not until I grant Royal Assent. And my answer to this, sir, is no. I do not grant Royal Assent."

"You cannot be serious."

"Deadly, sir. Deadly."

"This is unprecedented. The last time Royal Assent was withheld," he frowned and appeared to ponder. "It has been more than two hundred years."

"And just think how much better a world we'd have if some of my illustrious predecessors had shown the wisdom and spine to refuse the worst laws passed in that time."

"You can not do this."

"Oh, has Albion's constitution been quietly changed? As Queen I do retain that power, however long it's been unused."

"Your Majesty, I am your representative at Parliament. One might almost call me your viceroy within Albion. If you refuse to grant Royal Assent to this law, which I have worked so hard at, it will send a clear and obvious message that you lack confidence in my abilities. It is certain to make my government collapse."

"If your government is unable or unwilling to create a law granting true and complete equality at once then yes, I do lack confidence in it. Perhaps it would be for the best if it collapse?"

He again didn't answer, finding it increasingly difficult to hold back his anger.

"Sir," the queen stated, grasping the papers and shoving it in his direction. "Take this back to Parliament. It is less valuable than the ink spilt to write it out. I refuse to make this law, and will continue to refuse to make it law until it is made right for everyone. All persons, without respect to sex or age or wealth or race or religion, once obtaining 21 years, will have the right to vote. Bring me the law I demand, or bring me a letter of resignation. I will accept nothing else from you."

"As you wish. _Your Majesty_."

He turned, without bowing, stormed out of her office, and slammed the door behind him.

Charlotte closed her eyes, dropping the papers, leaning forward and massaging the bridge of her nose. After a moment she opened her eyes and, with a shaky hand, unstopped a crystal decanter containing a light amber fluid. She poured a measured amount into a glass, and drank it down in one gulp.

There was a knock at her door. She took a very deep breath. "Enter," she managed to say without her voice cracking.

Ange opened the door, slipping in and bowing. "Your majesty."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Ange, you needn't do that."

Ange grinned. "But Charlotte, it is proper."

Charlotte sighed, and pulled herself to her feet, closed the distance, and wrapped her arms around Ange tightly.

"You did well," Ange said quietly.

"I know. Even so, it's taking a lot out of me. That man has become intolerable."

They held each other in silence for a moment.

"Is it time?" Ange asked.

Charlotte pulled away from her, straightening out her dress, and clearing her throat. "Ms le Carré, you are instructed to begin Operation Waterloo, at your earliest possible convenience."

Ange, expression very serious, gave her a half bow. "At your command, Majesty."

 

***

 

"My office now, Ms Flint," Normandy grumbled. He tugged the door out of the hand of the guard that had opened it for him, to slam it shut quite loudly.

Gazelle kept an even expression, and gave a quick apologetic shrug to the flustered man in a red uniform, and followed Normandy as he stalked darkly through the corridors of Number 10.

A secretary holding several folders and stacks of paper started to approach him, before a look of abject terror clouded her expression and she turned to flee to safety.

When he reached his office, Normandy held the door open for Gazelle Flint to enter, specifically to slam it closed with enough force that the painting of Queen Charlotte that hung on the wall behind his desk jolted and shifted off-center.

"That woman," Normandy hissed as he paced to the window of his office, "has become intolerable."

"Sir?"

He turned and paced back to the middle of the room. "The Queen has refused to give her assent to the voting rights law."

"I see."

He stalked over to his desk, and lifted a crystal decanter from it. "She demands a new law, or my resignation."

Flint remained silent.

Normandy abruptly hurled the decanter at the painting. It struck Charlotte's cheek, shattering into shards and sending a cascade of brandy down her chin, and dress, and the frame of the painting.

Flint remained standing at attention.

He turned on her with a heavy frown. "Enact Operation Cromwell."

Gazelle nodded crisply, despite a momentary shock. "Yes sir."

He glowered at the ruined painting. "Have that replaced."

  
"Yes sir."

"That is _all_ , Ms Flint."

 

***

 

The night was warm, with a gentle breeze blowing in from the river. The day's pollution had mostly dispersed, though the heavy lighting of the city drowned out all but the brightest stars above.

The rooftop should have been guarded. It was the ideal place for a police or Secret Service watchpoint, flat and with a low wall ringing it. The three figures kneeling there were not associated with the police, or any other security forces. Of the Kingdom of Albion in any case.

Amanda had set up her rifle on the wall's edge, aiming it at a window of the building across the street. She knelt beside it, looking through binoculars.

"You sure about this, A?" Tanya asked. She knelt beside Amanda, cradling a submachine gun. She glanced at the door leading back into the building. They would hear it were it to open. She'd rigged up an alarm to see to that. It still worried her.

"Entirely," Ange said casually. Her mask covered her lower face, and her top-hat was pulled down, so Tanya couldn't see her eyes. She was shifting her C-ball from hand to hand. Tanya would've called it 'nervously' if it had been anyone else. She chose to interpret it as boredom instead.

"Signal," Amanda said. She put her binoculars down and shifted to the rifle. She looked through the spotting scope, and her hand remained well away from the trigger.

"Good luck," Tanya said.

Ange didn't respond. She gripped her C-ball, adjusted a switch with her thumb, and as a green glow enveloped her body, kicked up into the air.

She soared in a high, graceful arc up over the street below, and the guarded checkpoint. A quick glance down revealed two bored looking Metropolitan police officers, and three or four Secret Service agents in slightly too-obvious "plain" suits.

She landed on the roof of the building, and the glow ended. Without a pause, she ran to the door leading in. It was unlocked.

She went down the stairs. She skipped the door leading to the third floor. The door the second floor was unlocked. She opened it a crack and looked out. The corridor was empty and dark.

Closing the door behind her, she moved slowly and cautiously. By all rights the area should have been guarded. This was the nerve center of the Kingdom of Albion. Arguably the most important building in the entire world. Had it not been for the insider, had it not been for the arrangement, Ange would have been justifiably suspicious of the ease of this operation.

The Cabinet room had two entrances. She gently tugged on the knob of the nearer set. It was unlocked. She opened it a crack and peered in.

A long table surrounded by chairs dominated the middle. At the far end a high-backed leather chair sat, facing away from her. The only light in the room trickled in from a half-shuttered window at that end.

She slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. The room was mostly in shadow. She glanced around quickly, her eyes lingering just for a moment at the space at the near end of the table. In the thick darkness it was easy for the eyes to play tricks on the brain. There was nothing there, Ange told herself.

She focused again on the far end of the room. There was another set of double doors there, doors which would be locked. Several filing cabinets and shelves lay just beyond the doors, the leather chair, and the thin sliver of light. Her target was on that side of the room.

She reached about the midpoint of the room, when a light laughter froze her in place.

"Welcome, Ange le Carré."

Ange kept an even expression. Her hand slowly moved toward her revolver, holstered at her side.

The high-backed leather chair rotated slowly. The light just barely touched the face of the Duke of Normandy, sitting there. He wore an arrogant, assured smirk.

"Or should I say, Charlotte?"

The words made Ange's eyes widen. She hesitated just a moment. And by the time she realized that there was a third person in the room, it was too late. The barrel of an automatic pistol pressed against the back of her head.

"Don't," Gazelle Flint said simply.

Ange clenched her hands into tight fists, then slowly, reluctantly, raised her hands, open, palms facing Normandy.

She felt Flint reach around and draw Ange's revolver from its holster. Flint shifted her automatic to her other hand, pressing it into Ange's back, and she reached down to another pouch at Ange's hip. Ange saw Gazelle pull the C-ball out.

"Is this what you were expecting, Charlotte?" Normandy sneered.

Ange didn't respond.

Normandy pulled himself to his feet, and slowly strolled over to her. "Did you really expect that I wouldn't learn your identity? I was Home Secretary for many years. I had full access to the records of the Metropolitan Police, Scotland Yard, the Secret Service Bureau. It merely took a little bit of patient analysis to work it out."

"What do you expect me to say? Confess that I am the real Charlotte?"

Flint moved, slowly and carefully, over to stand beside Normandy. She kept her gun aimed at Ange's chest.

Normandy shrugged. "It doesn't much matter what you say, or don't say. The evidence is damning."

"Circumstantial."

"Be that as it may. I believe you to be the real Charlotte. The legitimate heir to the throne of Albion. The woman calling herself my niece is the real Ange le Carré. She is not the legitimate queen of Albion. Isn't this all true?"

"What I say won't sway your opinion."

"No."

"Alright then. Uncle."

Normandy's smile widened. "So you do admit it."

"What do you intend to do?"

He shrugged. "Well, the current situation is of course untenable. The so-called Charlotte is uncontrollable. She believes herself to have real power! I cannot accept this. And of course, you are the reason she believes it. You're the shadowy hand that enforces her will. You murdered the rightful heirs to the Crown, didn't you?"

Ange didn't answer.

"Well, it doesn't matter. Your body will be found floating in the Thames in a few days. The so-called _Q_ _ueen_ will find herself without support, her closest ally ... no, her lover, murdered. Gone. She will be uncentered. Without support, she will easily bend to my will."

"Have you met the woman?" Ange asked evenly.

Normandy laughed. "Well, if she won't bend then a convenient accident will be arranged. Crown Princess Mary is considerably easier to control. In fact, I may just arrange for that accident in any case. Yes, I do believe that is a more favorable situation for me."

Ange didn't answer.

Normandy turned his back to Ange, and started to walk toward the doors on the far side of the room. He turned to Flint. "Ms Flint, if you will do your duty?"

"With pleasure, sir."

He laughed again, and turned.

Ange and Gazelle met each others' gaze. Evenly. Ange showed no fear, and no concern. Gazelle in turn was cold, displaying no hesitation or uncertainty.

Ange's eyes briefly flitted to the Duke of Normandy. she blinked, and looked back to Flint. A very thin smile brushed Gazelle's lips.

In a smooth and rapid motion Gazelle Flint pivoted and lashed out, striking the back of Normandy's neck with the butt of her automatic pistol. He cried out in surprise and pain, but was unable to react before Flint drove her knee into his back with sufficient force that he collapsed forward. Gazelle was atop him the moment he hit the floor, her knee still pressed into his back, and the barrel of the automatic against the back of his head.

"Gazelle Flint, what is the meaning of this?!" Normandy cried out.

"I am doing my duty, sir."

"This is treason!"

"Just so. You have threatened to kill, in your words, the legitimate Queen of Albion, and to rule by proxy through an impostor."

"This is preposterous! I demand you release me this very instant!"

Ange casually strolled over to stand beside the two of them. She reached down and took back her revolver and C-ball from Gazelle Flint, who offered no resistance.

"It would seem that you are in a rather poor position _uncle_ ," Ange said, kneeling down beside them.

He scowled up at her with one eye, his other pressed against the floor.

"You will not escape, you realize this? Both of you are dead women."

"I believe not," Ange replied. "Now, we must discuss some very important matters."

"There's nothing to discuss but your painful death," Normandy spat. He cried out again in pain when Flint pressed her knee sharply into his lower back.

"You will resign. You will leave politics entirely. You will return to your manor in Rouen, where you will live out the remaining years of your life in quiet. Saying nothing of your suspicions, or the evidence you claim to have."

"You'd let me live? You propose to force me into retirement?!"

"If it were me, I would put a bullet in your skull right now," Ange said, aiming her revolver at his face. "However, I am under orders direct from the Queen. She does not desire your death. As a result, this is the deal that I offer you."

Normandy didn't answer right away.

"Please do hurry uncle. I am feeling unsecure at the present. I fear my gun will discharge quite on accident."

"Alright. Done. I'll resign, and leave politics. I'll need at least a week to compose a letter of resignation."

"That won't be necessary," Ange said. She holstered her revolver, and pulled out a neatly-folded paper from another hip pouch. She opened it, and held it out for him to see. "An enterprising member of your staff has taken the liberty to write your resignation for you. You will note it was composed upon the typewriter in your office. Or, Scotland Yard will be able to confirm it in any case."

Normandy scowled, but didn't say anything.

Ange stood up, and placed the letter on the table.

"Ms Flint, if you will allow the Prime Minster to stand, so he may sign his letter of resignation."

"Yes ma'am," she answered. She slowly pulled away from him, keeping the gun aimed at the back of his head. Normandy started to pull himself up, only to have Gazelle grip the back of his head, and force him back to the floor. "Easy, sir. You should know me well enough by now to realize that I will not hesitate to kill you."

"Just let me go," he hissed.

Again, she pulled back, standing up slowly, her gun unerringly aimed at Normandy as he slowly pulled himself up to his knees.

Ange had her back to the scene. She strolled over to the window, and pulled the shutter open. She looked out of the window, briefly drawing her C-ball. She pressed a contact on its surface, and it emitted two quick pulses of green light. After a moment, it was answered by a single long flash of blue light from a neighboring rooftop.

Ange turned to see Normandy sitting at the table, glaring at the letter in front of him.

"I am in want of a pen," he grumbled.

Ange reached into her pouch, and tossed a fountain pen on the table beside him. "You may keep it as a souvenir."

As Normandy reached for it, he saw it was emblazoned with the flag of the Commonwealth of Albion.

 

***

 

The phone on Charlotte's desk rang, three sharp chimes. She put down her pen, and lifted the handset.

"Yes, Ms Farthingdale?"

"Dorothy MacBean to see you, Your Majesty."

"Ah, wonderful. Send her in."

"Very good, ma'am."

Charlotte set the handset down, just as there was a knock at the door.

"Enter."

Dorothy sauntered in with a big grin. "Heya, Charlotte."

Charlotte smiled. "Come in, come in."

Dorothy closed the door behind her, then nodded. "Oh yeah. Yer Majesty," she slurred, giving a quick and sloppy curtsey.

Charlotte rolled her eyes.

"So what's this about?" Dorothy asked.

"Have a seat."

Dorothy sat and crossed her legs. "So?"

"How are things going, Dorothy? It's been a little while after all."

"Guess so. Lesse, you came by in April, right? Well, Dani is actually sleeping at night now. She can move around a bit, and tries to sit up on her own. Poor thing just falls right over though. Makes her laugh every time."

Charlotte smiled. "She's keeping you busy."

"Very. Well, with Beato and mum around we're doing alright. My ... um, the old, ahh .…"

"You may speak freely, Dorothy. This room is entirely secure."

"Oh. Alright. Control has me doing behind the scenes things still. Analysis, consulting, even threatened to make me teach a class at the Farm, if you can believe it!"

Charlotte nodded. "I can. You'd do well, I think."

"Ha! But seriously, with you in charge over here, they're a lot less active these days. 7 told me in so many words that she can't wait to lose her job."

"It will be a little while yet before it comes to that."

"I suppose."

Charlotte was silent for a moment, and glanced at her phone.

"Something else's up, huh?" Dorothy asked.

"Well .…"

The phone rang. Charlotte answered. "Yes, Ms Farthingdale? I see. Show her in. Yes, that is true. Send her in regardless. Thank you, Ms Farthingdale."

She hung up the phone, and turned to look at Dorothy, who regarded her with open puzzlement.

The door opened. Dorothy casually looked up to see who it was.

And her expression instantly fell. Her hands gripped the armrests of her chair, and she took a very, very deep breath.

"Come in, Ms Flint," Charlotte said, evenly.

Gazelle Flint walked into the office, carrying an attache case. She was careful to close the door behind her.

"Your Majesty," she said with a bow. She then turned to Dorothy and nodded. "Ms MacBean."

"Flint."

Charlotte looked between the two women. To say that Dorothy was tense would be an understatement. Her knuckles were white, and Charlotte half-feared that the rests on her chair would snap off under the pressure.

"How can I help you, Ms Flint?" Charlotte asked.

She set her case on the edge of the Queen's desk, and opened it. "At your request, and that of Control, I've retrieved the files."

Dorothy's eyes widened. "Wait ... files? Control?! What's this about?"

Gazelle pulled a thick manila envelope from her case, and handed it to the Queen, entirely ignoring Dorothy.

"Is this everything?"

Flint nodded. "Yes. All pertinent files from the Secret Service Bureau, from my archive and that of the Duke of Normandy, as well as from Scotland Yard and other branches of the Home Office."

"Very thorough. And far more compact than I expected."

"The Duke of Normandy was always one to exaggerate the extent of his assets."

Charlotte's brow raised, her smile widening a fraction. "I see. So my identity, and that of Ms Le Carré, can be presumed to be secure."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good."

She opened the envelope, and examined several of the papers within.

Flint glanced at Dorothy out of the corner of her eyes.

"Ma'am, if I may be permitted?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. Of course."

Flint nodded, and retrieved a second, thinner envelope. She turned, and held it out toward Dorothy.

"What's this?"

"From my personal archive, as well as from the SSB. Files, records, transcripts of meetings and orders, all pertaining to my role in the exploitation and murder of your father, Danny MacBean. Also, to the operation to corrupt, blackmail, and exploit the Commonwealth agent commonly nicknamed Prefect."

Dorothy bristled. "What?"

Flint didn't repeat herself.

Dorothy looked at Charlotte, then looked back at Gazelle. "What?" she repeated.

"This is sensitive information. I am, technically, violating multiple laws by giving this to you. Additionally, should this information find its way into the hands of, say, the editor of the Times of London, or the Law Lords ... well, the damage to my career would be catastrophic, to say the very least."

Dorothy blinked, and slowly reached out to take the envelope. She stared at it silently for a full minute. "Why?"

"You deserve to know."

"No, I mean ... why? You wanting me to forgive you? You want to pretend to be a good person suddenly, now that you're apparently working for the Commonwealth? After all the _bullshit_ you put us through, you just expect this to make a difference?"

"You deserve to know," Flint repeated. "If you choose to forward the information to other authorities, or even choose to take it upon yourself to avenge those that I've hurt, then that is your choice. I won't blame you for either decision."

Dorothy looked at the envelope again. "Yeah," she whispered. After a moment, she stood up, and set the envelope on the edge of Charlotte's desk.

"Yeah, you know what? Fuck you. I can't deal with this right now. I _won't_. Fuck you, Gazelle Flint."

"I will keep the envelope safe when and if ever you do want to examine the contents," Charlotte said quietly.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Dorothy walked to the door, purposefully thrusting her shoulder into Gazelle's as she went past. She opened the door, and started through. Then she paused, turned, and bowed to Charlotte. "Your Majesty."

Then Dorothy turned and walked off, closing the door with surprising gentleness.

Charlotte and Gazelle both looked at the door for a moment.

"That went well," Charlotte whispered, taking the envelope Dorothy had left behind.

Gazelle turned back to her. "Is there anything else, Your Majesty?"

"Yes. Have a seat, Ms Flint."

Gazelle paused, vaguely surprised, before settling into the chair Dorothy had vacated. "Thank you, ma'am."

"What do you intend to do now, Gazelle Flint?"

"Straight to the point? I've not put any thought into it. The Duke of Normandy is the man most responsible for my career. He gave me a chance, when no one else did. With him resigned, and with rumors circulating that it may have been to avoid disgrace ... well, I'm at a loss."

"Do you intend to resign from the Secret Service Bureau?"

Flint regarded Charlotte in silence for a long moment. "Is that your desire, ma'am?"

"No, quite the opposite. I'd prefer if you remain in the service."

Flint wasn't certain how to answer, so she didn't.

Charlotte sighed. "You know, we've never really spoken to each other. Oh, we've said words to each other, but it's all been formal. Official."

Flint pursed her lips, deciding to not call out the non sequitur. "That is true, I suppose. Then again, we've never been friends."

"No. No I suppose not. However, I do not need more friends."

Flint blinked, her brow creasing. "Ma'am?"

"I do not need more friends. However, I do find myself in need of associates. Knowledgeable associates in convenient places. Associates used to following hard orders, and not afraid to dirty their hands."

Flint sighed, and nodded. "I see."

"I will reward loyalty and success, Ms Flint."

"And punish failure and disobedience, I trust?"

Charlotte's lips curled up into a thin smile. "You've had this conversation with my uncle, I take it?"

Flint didn't comment.

"If you disobey me there will naturally be consequences, but failure requires analysis and correction rather than punishment. It's more productive that way. Wouldn't you agree, Ms Flint?"

"Yes ma'am."

"That said, if you don't feel you can serve me in this capacity, say so. I'd rather us part with no hard feelings than you acting in bad faith and building resentment against me."

"I serve at your pleasure, my Queen."

Charlotte's smile widened. "Splendid! Now, Ms Flint, understand please that this arrangement is not public knowledge. A very small number of trusted individuals alone know of it."

"I would assume that Ange le Carré is among that number."

"Of course. As are the members of Control."

"I see. So this is approved by them."

"Well, they can't really tell me not to," Charlotte said with obvious amusement. "But yes, they know my intentions regarding you."

"Alright."

"One more thing, Ms Flint: you are the expert. You've spent a good portion of your life as a spy, both for and against the Kingdom. If my orders are nonsense or stand to do more harm than good, speak up. That isn't being disobedient. Quite the reverse, it's you saving us both from potential calamity."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good." Charlotte rose, and extended her hand. "It will be a pleasure to work with you, Gazelle Flint."

Flint stood, firmly clasping Charlotte's hand. "It will be my pleasure, Your Majesty."

 

***

 

Gazelle Flint sat in her office. It had been several weeks, and the Home Secretary had promoted her on the Queen's recommendation. She still wasn't in charge of the entire agency, but she did have a surprisingly large network of spies and security agents under her command. She now sat reviewing their personnel files.

She organized them into four groups.

First, those loyal to the Kingdom of Albion.

Second those who, like Flint, were in fact loyal to the Commonwealth, and serving as double agents. A number had the same experience: capture by the Commonwealth, a change of heart of a more or less sincere nature, followed by release or "escape" to infiltrate the Secret Service to the extent they could.

The third group was a smaller set, and consisted of agents, also like Flint, who owed personal loyalty to the Queen. Charlotte had her own agenda, and there were points at which it opposed that of the Commonwealth. So far, this hadn't caused any conflict, but it was best to know who could be trusted.

The fourth, and smallest, group were the agents personally loyal to Gazelle Flint. She had served under the Duke of Normandy, and saw no reason to place all faith and trust in the Queen. It was unlikely, but not impossible, that Gazelle might have to act against her in the future. Again, it was best to know who could be trusted.

She was about to uncork a bottle sitting in the drawer of her desk, when there was a knock at the door. Hastily, she closed the drawer and arranged her papers to not seem unduly suspicious. "Come in."

The door opened, and Dorothy MacBean entered. "Sorry to interrupt," Dorothy said evenly.

"You aren't," Flint lied. "Will you have a seat?"

"Thanks." Dorothy sat, and glanced around the office. "Nice place," she commented.

"Drink?"

"I'm trying to cut back," Dorothy said with a deepening frown.

"I see. How may I help you, Ms MacBean?"

Dorothy leaned forward. "I read those files."

Flint regarded her carefully in silence. "I see. I presume you have no intention of killing me then. Have you forgiven me?"

"No."

"So they are now in the hands of the Press? Or the Court?"

Dorothy leaned back in her chair. "No."

Gazelle frowned uncertainly. She lifted the bottle out of the drawer. "Do you mind?"

"Help yourself."

Flint nodded, pouring herself a full glass of whisky, downing it in one shot, then refilling her glass. She set it on her desk, and returned the bottle to the drawer.

"So, you have me at a loss. You don't plan to kill me, or betray my trust, or forgive me. Why are you here?"

"I read those files," Dorothy said in a quiet voice. "I read every last one. Every detail about how you used my father's poverty and disability against him. How you had pretty little agents pretend to be Eleanor's friends. Tell her how stressed she appeared to be, and how she might like this little pick-me-up. Oh no, you had them tell her. It's perfectly safe. Oh, and by the way you're now addicted, so if you want to keep your drug supply flowing you'll do as Gazelle Flint orders. Yeah, I read all that. I read the autopsy reports. God damn you to hell, I looked at the photographs."

Flint kept her expression even. She said nothing.

"Then, after reading every word, three times over, do you know what I did?"

Flint didn't answer, so Dorothy sighed and continued.

"I placed them all back in that envelope, and then placed the envelope in the fireplace. I lit it on fire. I watched it burn. I made certain every last scrap of paper, every last photograph, turned to ash. I relit the fire several times to be sure."

"Why?"

"Why? Believe me, after reading all that, I want nothing more than to punch you in the face, and continue to punch your face until it is no longer recognizable as belonging to a human being. I want to put you through every inch of the hell you've put me through. I want to fucking kill you so bad my heart hurts right now just sitting near you. _Why_ don't I? Because Her Majesty, Charlotte, Queen of Albion, Hanover, and Ireland, Empress of India, and Protector of the Faith, believes that you, Gazelle _fucking_ Flint are useful to her. Because I respect her. I respect her vision of a better world. That overrides my hate of you. Don't mistake me though. I _do_ hate you. If she even once breathes any doubt in regards to you, or even implies that it might be more convenient if you weren't around, then I will personally wring your neck until your head pops off your shoulders. I. Hate. You. But ... I love Charlotte more."

Flint swallowed, and took a very deep breath.

Dorothy stood up. "Don't fuck up, Flint. I _am_ your enemy, and only Charlotte's will is holding me back. Just one tiny little misstep and I will thrust my hand down your throat and extract your lungs through your nostrils."

Flint nodded, unable to find any words.

Dorothy stared at her for one more moment, before leaving without another word.


End file.
